The Princess and the Cliche
by Jetso
Summary: ~Bored with originality: a fairy tale cliches... Recipe: Take one paranoid princess, add a talking pig, a snippy seamstress, a melodramatic prince. Seive in some fairies. Serve sided with general chaos
1. Where It All Went Wrong

Prologue: Where it Went Wrong

They had chosen one of those baby-Princess package-deals: a christening party, three blessings and a continental breakfast. Of course, there was also the curse written into the contract in small print, but no one ever notices those. As it turns out, palace was in an uproar on that special day, since the company which hosted such occasions were reusing the decorations from the last royal baby's christening party in the neighbouring kingdom. That was regular procedure and in theory the palace shouldn't be in an uproar nor the queen reduced to inarticulate fury because of it, but the company had overlooked a little detail...

"She's a girl for goodness sakes! A girl! She can't have dragons and knights and swords and... blue, for heaven's shake blue!" moaned the queen, fanning herself with one of the extra invitations (baby blue with the neighbouring kingdom's coat of arms).

Between rapid appologies, the company representative tried to explain, or rather recite from his training courses, the reasons why his the company has to save resources and cut on expenditure. "And it's popular for girls to be called boys names nowadays."

"Daniel. My daughter's called Daniel..."

"Our company could ammend the banners a little and make it Aniel or Niel, but I'm afraid getting new banners isn't within the boundaries of the contract."

They chose Aniel, in the end, at the company representative's assurance it was more feminine and it would take less work to change. The seamstress was obviously quite unhappy about the extra sewing, or rather un-sewing, she had to do without payment, (the company paid her for what she sewed not what she un-sewed.)

"The name will look unbalanced on banner with the first letter missing... maybe I could take the 'L' off?" she said, waving her needle wildly.

"Anie just isn't very royal."

"Maybe it could be short for Anionetti?"

"Sounds like a Thibanese pastry. Thought we're at war with Thibia?"

"It is a Thibanese pastry: Round, light, filled with chocolate cream. When you bite the chocolate just oozes out."

"Do they sell them at..."

As the company representative's conversation with the seamstress rattled off at a tangent about Anionetties, the art of eating Thibanese pastry and whether or not she was free Sunday afternoon, three o'clock, the blessings department was also having some large glitches over a clash of schedule with the fairies. Fairies were, after all, very busy, albeit little, people, rushing between weddings, birthdays, graduations, divorces and funerals. The sudden royal population explosion had drained the fairies of their magic, they were down to two incredibly annoying hum-when-you-drink mugs, an incomplete set of rainbow marbles (missing blue, green and purple), a defective blessing of intelligence, a blessing of cowardice, a blessing of beauty and a blessing of moodiness.

"I know we're early, but you just want our blessings, so let's just get on with it," said the head-fairy briskly. "I, the winter fairy, bless the Prince of..."

"Princess," hissed the blessings coordinator.

"Sorry. I bless the Princess of Thibia..."

"Pyrai."

"Sorry. Princess of Pyrai..." It is to be noted that the head-fairy conveniently left out the name of the Princess. "... with the gift of caution." It is also to be noted the gift of 'caution' is but another term for 'cowardice.'

There was a healthy sprinkling of glitter over the cradle as the the blessing was placed upon the Princess along with the hopes she wasn't allergic to glitter.

"I, the autumn fairy, bless the Princess of Pyrai with the gift of intelligence."

There was another sprinkling of glitter and magic, this time accompanied by a little music (hummed by the blessings coordinator) and some of the little Princess' sneezes.

"I, the rain fairy, bless the Princess of Pyrai with this gift of fate: The preordained quest for your true love and the rest of this incomplete set of fairy baubles." The fairy considered sprinkling the marbles over the Princess, but thought the better of it and placed them beside the cradle, half worrying if they were baby-safe.

The fairies left early to bestow christening blessings on the Prince of Laguria. Being almost two years and four months late, they really weren't too keen on delaying the matter any longer. It was, of course, a coordinating nightmare, but their remaining gifts were able to be cunningly disguised as "gift of emontional diversity", "blessing of charming face" and "the riddle to his destiny: a song embodied in a quencher of thirst."

There turned out to be no curse. It happened to be the evil fairy's holiday in Timbuktu and her understudy simply couldn't think up an evil enough curse for the newborn Princess, so she didn't turn up. She did, however send a little note via a bat saying how very sorry she was she couldn't make it and how very much she was looking forward to tormenting the royal couple. The curse organizer was all flustered by the subject, but managed to find a loophole in the contract saying his company was under no obligation to provide such a curse under such circumstances, in case anyone was interested.

The queen was devistated by the news, naturally, fainting on the spot and no amount of fanning with the by-now-battered invitations would revive her. Curses were simply so fashionable those days, it simply wouldn't do not to have one, but there was little she could do. The king wasn't as annoyed since curses meant trouble in the country's administration, usually involving bonfires of various harmfull of objects and a hold-up in the country, or at least capital city's) trade for sixteen years.

And, as if the whole facade wasn't ruined enough already, to top it all the continental breakfast was burnt.


	2. Where It Supposedly Got Better

One: Where it Supposedly Got Better

Even without blessings of beauty, the Princess Daniel (the seamstress never got round to changing the banners, but she did find time to go on a date with the company representative) grew up to be a very pretty creature. Of course, the truth in that statement would depend entirely on how one defined "pretty." She wasn't fine-boned, golden-haired or amber eyed. She wasn't lithe, midnight-haired or midnight-eyed. Neither had she hair the colour of Autumn or eyes that reminded one of a sea after a storm.

Daniel had brown hair and brown eyes. Not the golden brown, like her grandmother's, that romantics wrote bad sonnets about or the delicious chocolate brown, like the Queen's, that made anyone who vaguely liked chocolate drool. Daniel's hair was simply mousy. The only thing remotely poetic anyone said about her eyes was that their colour was a little like rust on ancient swords (especially those who have spilled much blood).

Her brown hair was at first, stubbornly straight and no amount of curling papers could bring about a royal wave into her hair. Then, at the age of thirteen, just as the queen gave up, it began to curl, just a little. The queen was overjoyed and declared a national holiday ("Daniel's Curls Day" does have a certain ring to it.) She was then severely disappointed when the infuriating hair refused to curl further and what did do wasn't in pretty ringlets or even distantly uniform. So, by the time Daniel was fourteen, her hair somewhat resembled a bird's nest, right down to the boring barky colour of semi-dry twigs.

Even after repeated attempts, the court poets couldn't write a single line of verse about the Princess' beauty as it was. So, in order to win the enormous amount of money the Queen had promised, they fibbed. They then discovered the greater the lies they told, the more money they got, so the fibs grew bigger and bigger. The slight exaggerations and creative licence spawned to grossly inaccurate whoppers. Eventually, it got to the point where "inaccurate" doesn't even begin to describe what they claimed the Princess looked like. One poet wrote five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half epic lines describing the Princess and some of the rumours (which he started) about her. It was said that a diamond had shattered itself after being in Princess Daniel's presence, because it had felt so muddy and dirty in comparison. Another talked of how flowers turned to her when she walks into the garden, shunning the sun and instead, basking in her radiant beauty. The Queen, if anything, encouraged these rumours.

Since most people didn't get to see Daniel, poets included, there was often argument on what exactly did the Princess look like. Did she have eyes that resembled the eclipsed sun? Or were they like shadows at midnight? What they didn't dispute about whether or not she was beautiful. In fact, it became a common country saying. Someone receiving an exceptionally nice present would exclaim, "They're almost as lovely as Daniel." They were always careful when they used these little sayings in case they committed treason by insulting the Princess. Eventually, she gained her own adjective. "They're almost daniel!"

The royal family reasonably quickly got used to the idea that their daughter's name was stuck as Daniel. It actually took the Queen about seven years, but that's "quickly," compared to how long it took her to realise her daughter's hair just wouldn't curl (thirteen), that Daniel will never be able to mimic a nightingale's song (twelve), that no one would stop her weapons lessons (eight) or stop her practically living in the library (still hadn't got used to this one). 

The whole country took it as a new fashion so there were girls named Daniel all over the country and eventually the continent. Naturally, they all spelt it as "Danielle," but it was a comfort the Queen. Other masculine name also came into fashion for baby girls. Some parents even cursed their sons with feminine name, but were careful to keep them monosyllabic, shunning names like "Elizabeth" or "Despoina."

Despite problems aforementioned, Daniel wasn't all that lousy as a Princess. Granted, she took weapons lessons and kept half the royal armoury up her skirts. This was actually the so-called "blessing of caution" kicking in, making her fearful of blood and the prospect of assassination, but ingrained even deeper than the magic was her sense of practicality (a recessive gene, hadn't shown up for centuries). This made her react to her fears in such a way: weapons training.

"Aniel," the Queen would say. (She still preferred Aniel since it was more feminine and insisted most of the castle staff who met the Princess regularly call her that.) "No one's going to try to kill you at dinner, it's just me and your father."

"Just in case some nutter decides to leap in from the windows or some homicidal bravo gets dared to butcher the Princess or some trained assassin gets paid ludicrous amounts to 'take me out' or some murderous maniac decides it'll be good fun to feed me to his starved tigers or even the royal cook you fired figured the best method of revenge would be to chop me up into unrecognisable tiny pieces and serve me up as cold cut before dinner's over. You know it only takes thirty-one seconds without air for you to die. Faster with an arrow at the throat. I'll bleed to death if they try my wrists which have to be kept lady-like and still. With the way the windows are positioned in the hall, anyone can perch unnoticed there and shoot an arrow. You insist on parading my 'swan-like neck' with that red scarf, it's going to be 'swan-like' target soon. I might as well draw a 'shoot-me' target on myself I'm only immune to the seven common poisons and there are some I can do nothing about arsenic's fatal no matter. The silver needle method only works for..." She took a deep breath. "If anything happens, I just want to be prepared."

That was the blessing of intelligence coming through. With a good memory, you'd be aware that it was defective, very defective. It was one of those imitation ones that a nameless, traceless factory mass-manufactured. It dolled out titanic portions to her memory and imagination, but did the same to the way she talked about the things she knew, her will to be assertive about the things she knew, the speed she thought and the way she sought for the things she wanted to know. Her mind was like lightning, jumping swiftly from one thought to the next, her voice often had to lag behind and try, in vain to catch up. This often led to incoherent speeches which had her garbling along at top speed between big unlady-like breaths.

That very same "gift" also led to Daniel living in the library behind (literally) walls of books. She had built a den among the bookshelves. 

"To make up for lost time," she explained. Up until she was eight-and-a-half, she didn't know the existence of books. In pursuit of knowledge she had merely interrogated everyone and anyone she knew about everything and anything. Her tutors had taught her music, dancing and painting, not about reading and writing. 

"A Princess doesn't need that," insisted the Queen.

Daniel discovered books when one of her dance tutors came into class with a romance novel.

"Now... one and two and..." Her dance tutor trailed off, she knew Daniel's attention was elsewhere.

"What's this?" she had asked, picking up the novel.

The dance tutor had blushed and mumbled her answer.

"What?"

"Leather's Passion."

"What's that?"

"Romance novel."

"What's that?"

"A story."

"Elaborate."

"It's a story where a heartless leather worker falls in love with the stunning village maiden of negotiable virtue. It was impossible, you see, but they did and they were convinced it wouldn't work out and that they were better off apart. But they weren't so they tried, but misunderstanding comes between them when one of her ex-customers shows up drunk (naturally he was only her customer because she really need the money for her sick mother) and the leather worker's betrothed returns from her visit to her cousin (three times removed). He made a vow that he would only marry her if there was a full moon on the eighth day of the eighth month, which you know is impossible." At this point tears started to well in the dance tutor's eyes. Daniel passed her a tissue and impatiently urged her on. 

"So that kept them apart, but they decided they couldn't live without each other and didn't care what the other did before so long as they're together now. The see each other again, but since he's a man of his honour, he can't marry her and she understood that. He also can't keep on seeing her since that was also part of his honour, but at least they forgave each other. That love was so enchanting that the moon (this all happened at night, on the eighth day of the eighth month, by the way, how romantic) showed her face to watch. So they could get married after all."

"Why?"

"It's just a story," said the dance tutor, dabbing her eyes furiously, careful not to let it smudge her cosmetics.

"I thought a string of words that narrates a chain of related events, not a block of paper. Explain."

Instead of dancing, Daniel spent the rest of the lesson questioning the dance tutor about books in excruciating detail, wringing out ever half-forgotten fact she ever knew or thought she knew. And she learnt how to read. The dance tutor was very careful about hiding certain sections of the book from Daniel's viewing.

It wasn't until she was eight-and-three-quarters she found the royal library and it took her another three months to convince her royal parents to let her use it. After that, she had hardly spent more than a candlemark away from the place.

Her little den in the library was partly because of her "nesting instincts" of the "blessing of caution." Do not be mistaken to think of it as an old (royal) cardboard box with (royal) blankets. She had made blueprints and built it by strategically re-positioning bookcases and other bits of furniture. She needed the help of several of the menservants of the palace. Naturally, she only asked these menservants very discreetly, only asked them to do small parts of her large scheme and told them that it was "top-secret top-royal" business they were doing. They didn't question her, since she was the Princess and did as she bid.

Daniel's den, or "Daniel's lair" as she called it (she hated alliteration, you would too if you've seen some of the rejected poems about her "beauty" ), was situated just off centre of the library. To the unwary, it was merely looks as though the royals decided it was stylish to have curvy walls and spell out their initials with the bookcases. Strategic mirrors and some spy-holes between books made security easy.

Daniel spent all of her time in her lair, if she wasn't with the weapons master or a dance/beauty/art/music instructor (they were all pretty much the same to her). She took most of her meals there and tried to sleep there whenever possible.

"It's the only place in this palace I feel vaguely safe in," she had said.

The Queen was convinced Daniel was suffering from some unknown curse. It was fairy protocol to inform the unfortunate victim, which Daniel felt was "a defeat of purpose. Why tell someone something bad's about to happen and how it's going to happen. It makes prevention so much easier. Take..." She never finished her sentence, since her mind had flashed to another topic.

With that thought in mind, the Queen decided that Daniel was suffering from a curse and that the situation with her would only last until her sixteenth birthday. Since she did not know what curse exactly her daughter suffered from, she went through history, noted similarities and made lists of what she needed:

1. Fairies (preferably godmothers or godfathers)

2. Talking animals (optional: comic relief and can get useful along the way)

3. Prince (possibly cursed)

4. Magic sword (wielded by Prince, _not _Daniel)

5. Love (preferably at first sight)

The Queen thought hard, chewing on her quill. As she caught herself doing something so unlady-like, she came up with the final thing to add to her list:

6. Wedding ready planned (just in case anything happens)

"Perfect," she congratulated herself.

Considering how the company had blotched things up before, it would have been wise for the Queen to take the matters into her own hands and make preparations for Daniel's sixteenth birthday party herself. Of course, that would have been very expensive and time consuming. That would also mean cutting many social functions and new dresses. So the Queen called the company representative (who she's been quite friendly with ever since he married the royal seamstress) and ticked a hybrid or a few package-deals (at a 35.5% discount) and made very specific demands.

The royal seamstress just happened to choose that moment to parade her new wardrobe, so it would be perfectly understandable if the company representative made a few _minor _errors. Which he did.


	3. Where It Didn't Get Any Better

Two: Where it didn't get any better

Thank you all for those lovely reviews. You have been most encouraging and very flattering. It's lovely to feel loved. May I take this opportunity to urge you all to review. I write this for my own amusement, but sadly, I don't write HTML for my own amusement. Offhand, Soho is an area of central London well known for its restaurants, nightlife and other indecencies. Thank you, again.

~Jetso, the Red Red Sky Tail

PS: Thank you, Phasera, for pointing out the mistakes. Writing in the wee hours of the night can do marvels to ones creativity and some not-so-marvelous things for one's grammer. I've corrected this version. Ever grateful.

  
  
  


It is said that the best laid plans always go astray, so it can be safely assumed that not-so-well-laid plans will go cataclysmally wrong. Such was the fate of Princess Daniel's party.

The company representative was also to summon the fairies who had appeared at Daniel's christening party. The company representative thankfully handed the task to the blessings department, who were already very much harassed by the Princess Aurora's parents (They claimed they only received two blessings instead of three, as the last one was a counter-curse and not a blessing.) Fairies were not only busy people, they could also prove very elusive.

The task of gathering a menagerie of talking animals was passed from department to department, each very reluctant to accept the job, since talking critters could be more troublesome than an ingrown toenail. Animals that have mastered the knack of human speech seem to believe it is their duty to compensate for the silence of the rest of the animal kingdom.

The company representative invited all the Princes (and some of the richer dukes and barons). He had also added in the post script for the Princes to bring their magic swords. There was slight problems in this, since he was ever so distracted by the royal seamstress (and her interesting new wardrobe) that he had spelt a good many of the names wrong. Not only did this cause an uproar in the royal postal service, many of the letters did not reach their royal destinations and instead, fell into the hands of some rather unscrupulous characters. 

"Love" proved just as elusive as the fairies, if not more so. All this didn't happen so long ago that one can easily buy bottled love. Those were made illegal by the fairy King Oberon ever since the rampant chaos just outside Athens. Only ones available were the ones in the black market, made illicitly by the odd witch who's bored waiting for her next meal to show up at her doorstep. With these there was always a risk that the intended target would end up hating/fearing/angry. There was also a risk that they'd be turned into a horrible tusked monstrosity or a cute three-inch fairy, but those were extreme cases. 

Nonetheless, the company, with all its current lawsuits decided it wasn't a risk worth taking so took the easy way out. They hired some violinists (a bit squeaky, but people don't notice when they're in love), a ghost writer (specialising in sonnets and romantic letters), some courier doves (they're not as reliable as pigeons, but they're far more romantic) and a florist (specializing in roses.) With the above, the romance committee, they hoped to trigger some measure of love, without magic.

Wedding plans were neatly filed away in the company headquarters and promptly forgotten about. This one should be grateful for as the planned wedding involved large amounts of lilac roses, lavender doves, pink ribbons, purple gowns, white candles and effusive speeches. The company's wide experience with weddings evidently hadn't improved their taste.

"I'm not wearing that," declared Daniel, pointing at the heap of pink and green velvet the Queen had the discernment to call a dress. "I can't hide my wrist-sheathes up those sleeves and I fight my way through all those skirts to reach my knives and my shortsword simply won't rest on that skirt, I won't be able to draw it properly and I can't see properly out of that mask, anyone can attack me from behind or the sides and there's not enough room in those shoes for my feet, let alone my daggers. Even if I can get to my weapons how am I to fight with a dress that's heavier than I am weighing me down? I'd trip over the skirts when I try running or my sleeves will get caught somewhere or I'll be thrown off balance when I dodge or I won't be able to get back up when I fall or... Can't you at least let me wear mail underneath all that?"

"No one's going to kill you, dear rhubarb." The Queen used to call Daniel pet names like "pumpkin" or "lamb," until Daniel finally declared if she were to be a vegetable she'd rather be rhubarb since the leaves were poisonous.

"How would you know? There's all manner of people out there, not to mention animals... they could be spies, assassins, murderers, pirates, scoundrels, scallywags, knaves, thieves, outlaws, terrorists, smugglers, treasonists, rapists, kidnappers, blackmailers... or worse, paparazzi."

"I'm sure..."

"But how can you be sure? The great hall is most dangerous. There are at least thirteen hiding places where one can hide and six obvious exits, five secret ones and..."

The Queen cut Daniel short before she could start another list. "You will come down to the party. Or else..."

It was the "or else..." that clinched it. The unfinished statement hung in the air. Daniel ended it herself with a dozens of brutal scenarios the Queen could never imagine. Shaking visibly, she pulled on the dress.

With preparations like that and a beginning like that, one would imagine that the party had nowhere to head but up. After all, this had to be where what stockbrokers called "the rebound" comes into action.

Wishing she was back in her lair in the library, Daniel waited for the herald to call her name. She closed her eyes to escape seeing the crowds and the decorations, but opened them again, stubborn not to let an assassin win by the element of surprise.

"I present to you... the Princess Daniel of Pyrai."

In dealing with their complex plans, the company had neglected some of the more mundane aspects of party. The decorations was one of them. They has concocted simply defied description, a motley combination of surviving decorations from past parties. A whole spectrum of jarring colours, put together in a whole new style of revulsion.

Daniel wanted to run, but a thought of the "or else..." kept her walking down the royal steps to the royal ballroom. The room was silenced. They expected a beauty, the greatest beauty that ever lived, the diamond-shattering celestially radiant beauty of the five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half lined epic poem (not that any of them had actually read all five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half lines). They didn't expect a rather shapeless (she wore the armour underneath) girl.

The queen had taken great pains to beautify her daughter. She had bleached Daniel's hair with lime and curl it, but this only resulted in a mottled sort of colour and a frizzled look. She fitted Daniel into what she thought was the most gorgeous dress ever made: yard after yard of pink and green velvet all trussed up with salmon pink lace and yellowish ribbons. Finally, she threw her hands back in dismay and hid Daniel's coiffure underneath a violet scarf and her face under a purple mask. The result was very vivid and eye-catching, if nothing else.

Secretly, the company representative, (or rather the royal seamstress whose idea this was) had spread a rumour among the royal suitors saying that the Princess was suffering under a curse that made her ugly to her true love, though others would still see her beauty. Since all the Princes hoped to win the heart of the diamond-shattering celestially radiant beauty, they were all very satisfied with what they saw. Afraid that they'd be murdered by jealous others, they kept what they really saw to themselves and praised the Princess Daniel. A few even quoting one of the five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half florid lines and most other simply misquoted. The other guests followed suit, not wanting to be found tasteless or blind, thinking it was the curse on the Princess gone awry, (as curses often did those days.)

The talking menagerie was never properly assembled with all the buck-passing the company departments did. In the end, the blessings coordinator begged his cousin (a part-time ventriloquist) and his pet pig to show up. The pig was on a leash, so not to cause any problems.

Daniel managed to blend in quite well with the other masked girls, dresses in outrageous dresses, some even harsher to the eye than Daniel's. She kept her back to a wall (in case anyone decided to attack her from behind), a hand on her weapons (in case anyone did attack), one eye on all the exits (in case anyone decided to barge in) and the other eye on all the windows (in case anyone decided to leap in).

The romance committee still lacked a proper schedule and plans, neither did they have a designated partner for Daniel so they drifted about the ballroom, the violinists randomly breaking into bouts of squeaky music, the ghost writer declaring dramatic love, the courier doves cooing and the florist flirting with the company representative (only until the seamstress found him and reminded him of Thibanese pastries in a dangerous voice.)

The fairies were late, sending the blessings coordinator into jitters. He paced up and down the ballroom until the company representative stated very calmly that the dance floor wasn't covered by the company insurance.

Everyone was a little hesitant about the refreshments that stretched along the long buffet table. The company and the Queen were conflicting in their opinions on what should be served. The royal cook eventually got so sick of hearing the menu changing, he stitched the front of a chicken to the back of a pig and called it a "cockatrice" and washed his hands of the business. Or rather, he begged a most disgusted royal seamstress to stitch it in exchange for a dozen pastry coupons. He also whipped up an almond-covered pig's stomach stuffed with minced pork and spices, which vaguely resembled a hedgehog.

The royal cook had a niece who was very fond of a song about sixpence, so he attempted the proverbial "four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie." He made one big pie with twenty four live blackbirds and one small pie inside. The effect of releasing the birds was most spectacular, what the birds did in the hall after being released was less so. What the birds did to (or rather, _on_ the pie while waiting to be released) was even less so, rendering the small pie quite inedible.

Most Princes didn't bother trying to engage Daniel in polite small talk, since where they came from a Princess was made more beautiful by their silence. And, they reasoned, Princesses never had much to say anyway. They did, however attempted at some one-sided conversations about how incredibly princely they were. Daniel managed to silence most of them with the comment, "I am ever so grateful for you braving the perils of the curse to speak to me." 

At the Princes' surprise, Daniel would explain, "It has promised to strike down any who wish to speak to me. The evil fairy is jealous of the attention I receive..." She would then finish her speech with some very graphic descriptions (involving sheep, disembowelment and mathematical formulas) of what the evil fairy would to those who spoke to the Princess. She was most understanding when left her with an assortment of lame excuses.

The afternoon wore on an evening soon came, but the fairies still hadn't arrived.

"Calm down," said the pet pig, or rather the said part-time ventriloquist through th pig's mouth. "They'll show up."

The blessings coordinator didn't and started alternating between banging his head on the wall and mumbling what sounded like "I should have... I should have..."

"They're notorious for being late..." said the part-time ventriloquist through the pig in a high squeaky voice. "They're just hoping for a dramatic entrance..."

Everyone danced a little, or rather tried to dance. The music was constantly interrupted by screechy snippets of violin concertos, so the dances were punctuated by moments in which the dancers covering their ears and screamed (politely and delicately, of course.) 

Daniel found it quite difficult to dance in her gown (not to mention, most dangerous since she would be open to attack with a Prince trampling on her feet), so politely declined the dances with her non-existent curse. "The curse prevents me from dancing with anyone other than my beloved and I don't want anyone to get jealous."

Thankfully, there had been a spree of very strange curses recently (the evil fairy was still on holiday and her understudy had a streak of originality when it came to curses) and the Princes bowed politely, vowing silently to free the beauteous Princess from the evil, albeit erratic, curse. 

The Queen was (literally) wassailing in delight as she saw the Princes making their, though brief, acquaintances with her daughter and started a running commentary for the benefit of the King about all the Princes and their wealth. Between the descriptions of Prince This-and-This (who's oh-so-handsome and not-so-rich) and Duke That-and-That (who's not-so-handsome and oh-so rich), the King decided that Daniel must have gotten the loquacious gene from his wife. After some flamboyant pointing and another dozen statements (he's so-so-rich and oh-so-cute) the King left the party, claiming earache and having to attend to some "very important matters of state."

Before the blessings coordinator could kill himself with a spoon, the fairies appeared. The part-time ventriloquist was right about the dramatic entrance. There were wreathes of smoke, indoor fireworks (almost charring the drapes) and a chorus of ethereal music. Spotlights the castle never knew they had flickered on and off. The glass shuddered and the air crackled with suspense. There were flashing lights and neon signs, fanfare and rainbows, fluttering banners and dancing shadows, Easter bunnies (what did you think they do all year?) and lots of soot (from the chimney). The special effects department was evidently working overtime.

Never mind the banners were from a decade ago ("Happy Birthday Prince Henry!") or the fanfare was just a bad recording (marked with a director's comments like "It's a wedding not a funeral!"), never mind the Easter bunnies still had their Easter hats on and the neon lights were borrowed from Soho, the entire audience were very much impressed.

Correction: The entire audience save one, who ripped off her gown, threw off her mask, pulled off her headdress, unsheathed her knife, drew her sword and ran off to the library as fast as her newly sixteen-year-old legs can carry her.


	4. Where It Lies in the hands of Coincidenc...

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Author's Notes: Thank you again to all those who have reviewed. I am very unspeakably grateful. This chapter's a little odd... and the story's loosing some of it's buoyancy. It's still funny, I believe, but the host of rather eccentric characters are making themselves enemies of the humour. All I could do is to make fun of them. Thus, without further ado: Chapter Three.

~Jetso, the Red Red Sky Tail.

Three: Where it Lies in the Hands of Coincidence

As we all know, in most fairy tale kingdoms, common knowledge isn't really as common as it should be and the Fates seem to delight in breaking Murphy's Law at every given opportunity. Pyrai, sadly, isn't any fairy tale kingdom. In Pyrai, it seems to be the duty of the Fates to ensure Murphy's Law is followed to the syllable, all ten syllables of it: "Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong." In fact, it could be considered a ritual of Pyrai's hardworking Fates to repeat to themselves those ten sacred syllables. There are moments in which they worked completely and mind-bogglingly overtime, that they_ created_ more time so that they could go on working for longer. 

The only thing the Pyraian Fates love more than Murphy's Law was Murphy's Second Law. They made it their motto and had it carved onto their weaving looms and etched onto their tools. All two clauses, thirteen words, seventeen syllables of it : "Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong in the worse possible way."

With that in mind, one can better understand how Daniel, horrified at the dramatic entrance of her winged godparents, fled the royal ballroom and raced down the long newly-waxed corridors to the library, slipping about three times en route and loosing both of her very uncomfortable, very pink shoes. What pandemonium she left in the royal ballroom was simply impossible for one observer to fully see all that happened.

Firstly, the Queen fainted. Her royal attendants tried to awake her with smelling salts, but she was quite stubborn about staying in a semi-comatose state. The King was still locked in his study, attending to "important matters of state." He refused to come out and appointed the company representative to take charge.

Secondly, the three fairies were quite huffy about their dramatic entrance being spoilt and it took the blessings coordinator a full twelve and a half minutes to calm them.

"Well, we are the fairies of..." the blond fairy paused and whipped out a script from nowhere. "... da da.... da.... there I am... Well, we three kings have come from afar to bless this child whose star shines above this humble stable..."

All in the audience looked about them, expecting to see a brilliant star and perhaps a few horses. The pink-apparelled fairy nudged her and winked hard.

"Why are you winking at me," said the blond fairy indignantly.

The pink-apparelled fairy glared and tapped the script with her glitter-trailing wand.

The blond fairy flipped through the script. There was a rapid rustling of paper and an "oooh" of realisation. She smiled sheepishly to her audience. "Sorry about that. Wrong script. Our Christmas play, you know, I play the lead king. I do look stunning don't I? It's my first speaking part, ever... save the time I played on of Cinderella's birds in the Easter pantomime. Pantomimes are so..." The pink-apparelled fairy gave her another savage nudge. "Well... we are the fairies of dinner, authors and fame. We have come to see the not-so-little Princess Daniel of Pyrai..."

The pink-apparelled fairy cleared her throat, waved her wand (leaving more than just a sprinkling of glitter on the clean ballroom floor, much to the dismay of the royal steward) and took over. "I mean that we three fairies have come again..."

"I know we don't look much like the ones who came sixteen years ago, but that's really just the years... We came with a gift of joy."

The pink-apparelled fairy twirled her wand, getting glitter all over her hair, dress and the progressively messier ballroom floor. "Dratted wand," she cursed underbreath before producing, with a slight of hand, a gift-wrapped box (pink dragons with a green ribbon).

The blessings coordinator retrieved his spoon from under the tables (he had dropped it during the commotion) and proceeded to try killing himself. "Faory of Winter, not Dinner. Autumn, not Authors. Rain, not Fame... never trust 'hearing-impaired' scribes. Never, ever trust 'hearing impaired' scribes..."

"Don't commit self-annihilation..." squealed the pig, waddling up to him.

"Pal..."

The pig looked confused (or as confused as a pig could ever look). "Could you be more precise in your oral communication?"

"Ah..."

"Do you mean he who speaks projects his voice, he who places crass, unfastidious words into my oral cavity? The part-time ventriloquist and full-time domestic swine liquidator?" The pig nodded with understanding. "He is currently unavailable."

"What?" The blessings coordinator dropped his spoon in surprise.

"The flora tradesperson, vertically-advantaged female with most of the local angiosperms (I believe you uneducated homo sapiens call them 'flowering plants') in her hair, pursued him (romantically, may I add) him out of here, I am led to believe."

"Eh..."

"Homo sapiens... I was merely trying to vocalise my observations. He was chased out of here by the florist."

"Ih..."

"You do comprehend that? Is it necessary for me to speak in single syllable words for you to perceive me? Is your lexicon that limited?"

"Oh..."

"Is it your objective to progress through all the vowels of the spoken tongue?"

"Uh..."

The pig shook his pink head and trotted of, muttering rude comments about the "mental capacity" of "homo sapiens" and in one very long breath talk about "finally being able to verbalise my mental whimsies and serious-minded mentations and no one to fully comprehend them..."

The Princes were all very stunned, but chalked it up to strange curses and even stranger fairies. The younger generation of the little folk had been getting increasingly insistant on going against tradition. These Princes, who wish claim "modern" as another of there Princely traits, have gladly accepted this slightly unconventional style.

The blessings coordinator was stopped killing himself by the royal seamstress. She also confiscated his spoon, in case he tried anything rash again. She then sent him to bed with hot chocolate and a teddy bear to sooth his nearves. Her husband, the company representative, was a little irked by it as it went against not only company standard procedure, but his family traditions since his mother was fond of stuffed pigs. The blessings coordinator, however, seemed to have developed a phobia against them and the company representative was snubbed by a triumphant "I told you so!" from his wife.

The royal seamstress accepted the green-ribboned pink-papered box from the fairies with as much grace as she could muster under the scrutiny of the entire ballroom. The company representative gave a very pretty, meaningless and repetitive speech, gorged with jargon, about how grateful the royal family was and how very sorry they all were. He placed special emphasis on how horrible the curse was and how incredibly malevolent and devious the fairy who had placed the curse (he carefully left her unnamed) in not informing them of the full capacity of the curse.

After such a stirring speech made by the company representative (which would later become the most quoted speech in Pyrian history), the curse of Princess Daniel became a proper noun in Pyrian history and gained a capital letter. The dark days of the Curse were forever remembered with a sort of secret wistfulness. All the princesses to come would secretly envy Daniel for her extensive and creative Curse while they were stuck with sleeping for a thousand years or eating poisoned apples. She, though unnamed, also won the "Most Evil Fairy Award." All evil fairies to come would remember the caster of the Curse with jealousy as they spoke of "Those Good Old Days" and it became their ambitions to surpass this nameless fairy in malevolence.

Whilst the havoc in the ballroom sorted itself out (or compicated itself, depending on your perspective), Daniel was safe (or so she thought) in her lair behind the bookcases. She was also far more comfortable in her dyed leather armour (her mother had objected to mail, but not boiled leather. This was more because of her not knowing, though) and dark clothes. Dark clothes are also far better for hiding, making her feel more easily ellusive and unseen than the flasy ballgown. She had also tore off her mask, headdress, shoes and the heavier bits of jewellery. The heavy bits were never expensive, anyway, lacking in design, style, workmanship and value (no decent craftsman would waste good jewels on such projects).

Daniel shuddered in her little niche, trying to concentrate on _100,001 Defensive Maneuvers, 100,001 Offensive Maneuvers,500,005 Variations and 700,008 Details on Everything In-Between _(her favorite book). The author of _100,001 Defensive Maneuvers, 100,001 Offensive Maneuvers,500,005 Variations and 700,008 Details on Everything In-Between _might have been a little fanatical about counting, but he was also a very able master of weapons. She fingered her knife nervously; the thought of being prepared wasn't able to sooth her paranoia

She finally slammed her book (it was more of a tome) shut after Offensive Maneuver Nr. 3403. She did this quietly, since she didn't want the watching spies/assassins/murderers/pirates/scoundrels/scallywags/knaves/thieves/outlaws/terrorists/smugglers/treasonists/rapists/kidnappers/blackmailers/paparazzi to hear her. She checked on her hidden weapons. She was readjusting the strap on her extra quiver of arrows (hidden under the desk), when she realised she had forgotten Defensive Maneuver Nr. 53034, so she opened it again.

Daniel continued flipping distractedly until someone entered the royal library and she moved to her elevated perch atop a bookshelf.

That someone wasn't particularly quiet about it. In fact, he had stormed in flinging open the doors with a practiced flair and had slammed them shut again in the face of his long-suffering train of followers. Neither was he very subtle in dress or movement. "Nondescript" and "understatement" clearly wasn't on his mind, or rather, on his tailor's mind (since no self respecting blue-blooded dandy would ever dress himself without his tailor's opinion). He wore a purple doublet with lime green hose. On his feet were embroidered shoes and his hands were daintily gloved. The entire ensemble was finished with a forest-green cravat and a gilded walkingstick. One can only marvel at the man's fashion sense. The only thing more surprising was that he somehow looked incredibly good in it, impeccably so. He wasn't just dishevelled, he was artistically dishevelled.

"Please!" begged his manservant (possibly his valet). "The King expects you to..."

The newcomer tore off his forest-green cravat and began violently plucking at his buttons (in an almost theatrically graceful manner). "I can't stand this a moment longer. I just can't.... Help me with these buttons, Liz I'm no man to fiddle with them."

Liz did as he was told as he murmered inaudibly about Laguria, Kings and duty.

"I have heard it a thousand times, Liz. From you, from my father, but why? I see no direct relationship between me getting married and the good of the kingdom. Is he going to mew me up to produce heirs?" The newcomer did a series of seeping arm movements. "Those buttons. Stop, Liz. I'll just rip it off. I'm expected to wear it again anyway."

The Prince (for he could only be a Prince with that clothing and manner) did so and threw the doublet aside. He struck a thougtful pose and said, "Liz, don't you wish you weren't born into..."

"You could wish, but it isn't so, my Prince. I have often wished my parents didn't name me Elizabeth in that naming maddness, but they did and there's nothing I could do. It's your duty to the throne to get married and have children."

For a fleeting moment, the Prince looked pacified, but then his expression shifted. "Leave, Liz. Just leave!" he bellowed.

The manservent fled, shutting the doors carefully behind him and thankful the royal library was soundproof (some of the architectural achievements of the royal library was detailed on a sign just outside).

Libraries were supposed to be very tranquil places of study and reflection, but this common rule obviously didn't apply to the Prince as he let out a frustrated roar. He then sat on a chair, brooding, scrutinising the room with moody eyes. 

Daniel, who had been watching, was fascinated by the strange conversation between the two men and this strange moody Prince. She vaguely remembered exchanging a few polite meaningless words with him in the royal ballroom. He had made over half a dozen attempts to talk to her, despite the increasingly blatant warnings about the curse. He only spoke a handful of trite poetic phrases (such as "Oh! Earth-treading star!" and "Farewell! Fair cruelty!"), which he did in a lazy drawl. Yet here was another side to his character: a seething restlessness, a negligent moodiness.

The Prince fingered his walking stick. Slowly, he gave the handle a curious twist and drew a thin blade from it.

Daniel stiffened. Without further thought, she pulled a long pin from her hair and sent if flying.

The Prince dropped the thin hook-handled blade and pulled out the pin which had thudded into the armrest of the chair. He made a few imaginary cuts above his wrist, imagining the pain.

Daniel leapt from her bookshelf.

"Quiet," growled the Prince. "I'm trying to kill myself artistically. Do you think a cut like this would look more dramatic?"

She drew her twin swords from beneath the long table.

The Prince didn't even look up. "Don't bother. I'll do a better job than you. I've a history of pain."

She moved into Defensive Stance Nr. 232 (she had considered Nr. 234 which was more suited to the situation, but couldn't quite remember it.)

"Of course, it would be nice to know who wants to kill the Prince Moon River of Laguria and how much they paid." He looked up and gave a bored "oh."

Daniel crouched into Offensive Stance Nr. 3450. 

"It's you. I will stain your floor artistically. It would be an improvement. So would death be to my life."


	5. Where It Hovers A Little

_Author's Notes: Another thank you to all my reviewers... New versions of the chapters, with most of those annoying little typos correct... writing at 2 am does wonders for one's creativity, but does hinder ones typing skills..._

~Jetso, the Red Red Sky Tail

  
  
  
  


Four: Where it Hovers a little

Daniel, who had spent all her life trying to avoid death and melodrama, was stunned at the Prince's blatant use of both. He still looked wildly handsome in the library chair, half-clothed and with a sharp, silver pin poised above the arteries in his left wrist.

"You're supposed to ask me why and wring all the painful details out of me."

"Why?" Her mind analysed the possibilities of this being some insanely complex assassination attempt. Supervillains seem to believe that the more complex the plan, the likelier they were to succeed, though strangely enough, it was the straightforward, single-step (eg: chop his head off) ones that work the best. She kept her distance, an eye on the entrance, an eye on the prince and her hand just above the secret sword compartment.

"Sound concerned. I really am going to kill myself."

"Why?"

"More concern, less confusion."

"Why?"

"Try again. Try to sound soothing and calming, but a little panicky and shocked, yet still subtly casual and in control." 

"Why?" Curiosity was overcoming Daniel's caution, despite being overly aware of how curiosity very gruesomely killed the cat.

"Almost there... try it a little softer and less demanding. Remember, if you excite me, I might kill myself," he said, sounding for all the world like a director.

"Why?"

"I suppose that will have to do," he sighed. "The fairies arrived two years and four months late for my christening party and bestowed upon me the gift of emotional diversity, the blessing of a charming face and two of those incredibly annoying hum-when-you-drink mugs. They claimed it to be a key to my destiny, so when both cups suddenly broke into song, my royal parents named me after it. I became Prince Moon River..."

"That's my pin. They'll assume I killed you."

"Killing myself with a lady's pin is a lot more dramatic than my own sword. They'll think I killed myself for love."

"You love me?" Daniel was caught off guard.

"No, but that's not the point. It's dramatic and romantic."

"Laguria Royal Protocol, chapter 453, subsection 42.4?"

He shrugged. "I skipped that chapter when my nurse dozed off. You do agree it's dramatic and romantic, right? Must be to have a Prince die for you... I have a story planned out. You spurned me, I tried to force myself on you..."

"You sure dramatics or romantics isn't another of your fairy blessings?"

He shook his head, "That's the bribe to compensate for being two years and four months late and to stop my royal parents from suing the company. Duty binds me. 'I was born to privilege and with it comes certain obligations.' That happens to directly translate into marrying a princess in my royal parent's tome... and following tradition to the syllable, of course."

He stood up and struck a dramtically frustrated pose. "Manners. Traditions. Customs. Formalities. Court Etiquette. Ceremonies. Fashions. Codes of conduct." He let out a dramatic groan and dramatically raised his knife. "They dictate what you know or do not know. They tell you how to dress, talk, walk, breath, sleep, wake, eat, think, drink, dance, birth, live..." He saw the pin as though for the first time and hurled it away. "...die."

Then, Prince Moon River crumbled to the ground in pathetic sobs. They were very beautiful and theatrical tears, but when Daniel peered closer, she could tell that they were still very genuine. It took her quite a while to decide to comfort him, but she did. She patted him gently on his back with one hand as he cried beautiful tears all over her leather armour, cooed in what she hoped was a comforting manner and kept her other hand near the secret sword compartment. Prince Moon River seemed comforted, though she sounded suspiciously like a dog growling.

Prince Moon River had, as all romanticising story-tellers do, left out bits of his story. His royal father was also a mathematician, a logician and a physicist. Laguria is one of those odd countries where maths, logic and physics considered manly and royal. It's where the number five was considered royal, where numbers are fashionable and where the multiplication tables were chanted as the national anthem. It's where the Newton's Laws of Motion are on the royal coat of arms as the motto and where parents didn't listen for their baby's first word, but their baby's first number. 

Laguria was also the country with a most rigid society. Rules were followed to the very last stroke of a letter and there were very many rules. Prince Moon River wasn't exaggerating in his dramatic fashion when he told Daniel that there were laws dictating how one was to dress, talk, walk, breath, sleep, wake, eat, think, drink, dance, birth, live, die... 

Firstly, everyone was very polite. Society dictated that one must not make a public display of one's emotions. Even in private was it not advisable to cry or laugh. Laguria was a country famous for its people's half-smiles and polite cheering. One can go through a lifetime in Laguria saying only the words: "If it pleases you," "Of course," "With gratitude", "Naturally" and "No, thank you."

The royal protocol was strict and centuries of tradition prescribed how one was to live one's life. A single action had volumes of meaning. There were specific ways to enter and exit a room in appropriately (please pick from the lis) happy/upset/angry/fearful manner depending on who is in the room one is exiting or entering. One was to tilt their heads such-and-such-a-number degrees downward and a single degrees more or less meant punishment.

Ingrained deeper into Prince Moon River's character than his blessings of dramatics and moodiness, was a rebelliousness and a need for action and change. There was that part of him (a mutated gene) that despised stagnation and craved action. Cloistered in a tower studying royal protocol (there are a total of fifty-five volumes, each with fifty-five-hundred pages and fifty-five hudred words a page) and other assorted tomes on behavior, physics and logic, made him restive.

Moodiness manifested itself well, but not in the whining manner of some spoilt whelps or violent manner of some. Neither was he a social butterfly or a debauchee. His temper would merely yo-yo from happy to sad to anger to fear to awe faster than the yo-yo champion in Thybia. Naturally, this was most unacceptable in Laguria, while other forms of inconstancy was more satisfactory. His royal grandfather had an official fan-club (full of screaming teenagers) and his royal great grandfather could never keep his mind (or his bed) made for longer than ten minutes, causing havoc in the royal court. Both were still accepted in Lagurian society as respectable men as they kept the emotions controlled and were brilliant mathematicians, logicians and physicists.

Prince Moon River's rebelliousness had made him unconventionally moody, just as it had made him unconventionally beautiful. On close inspection, his beautiful black hair and beautifully black eyes weren't really black at all. Neither was his skin really of a dusky complection. His royal mother was attempting a "tall, dark, dangerous" look. His hair was originally a dark lilac and his eyes a murky sort of mauve. His skin was more of white tinged with beginnings of blue. His body had refused to be commonplace and had opted for these strange colourings for no other reason than to be original.

It didn't take Prince Moon River long to stop blubbering on Daniel's shoulder. He suddenly jerked up and planted a kiss on Daniel's forehead which caused Daniel to perform Defensive Manoeuvre Nr. 395, open the secret compartment and unsheathe the sword hidden inside.

Prince Moon River's temper turned a hundred-and-eighty-degrees from vaguely romantic to astonished sheepishness (or sheepish astonishment). "I didn't mean..."

Daniel eyed him. "You could have meant..."

"But I didn't..."

"I didn't know..."

"You should. I did Romantic Signal Nr. 45... or maybe I did Insulting Hand Gesture Nr.31..."

Daniel didn't lower her sword, but was intrigued. "Repeat it."

"Something like this..." He raised his hand and twisted it into a half-wave. 

She repeated his gesture. "What you did before you... ah... kissed me, was the Insulting Hand Gesture Nr. 30. What you did just then is neither. Motion of Respect Nr. 67, variation 3."

"No, it can't be... This is Motion of Respect Nr. 67." He did an almost identical gesticulation, only the very practiced eye could tell the difference.

Daniel shook her head. "No. That's Motion of Respect Nr. 36."

Prince Moon River's mood flared. "I should know. I spent eighteen years with that book. I was _born _with it in my hands."

"Laguria Etiquette edition 2?"

He calmed into suspicion. "Edition 6, I believe..."

"The royal library's out of date. The one catalogued here is edition 2. There must have been some changes." She folded her arms with a certain smugness.

Suspicion faded into laughter.


	6. Where It Follows A Set Course

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Author's Notes:

Many thanks for the reviews and many apologies for the delay. Fanfiction.net going down for a while made updating difficult, then real life and other projects took over... no matter, without further gilding of the lily, I give you the next installment of the blatantly cliched story of Princess Daniel.

~Jetso, the Red Red Sky Tail

  
  
  
  
  


Five: Where it Follows A Set Course

When a lost pig wandered into the library about ten minutes later, he found two helplessly giggling heaps of what used to be royalty rolling on the floor. He caught their attention with a snobbish snort.

Daniel ceased her laughter and held her dagger between the pig and herself.

"Homo Sapiens... I suppose a sus scrofa (domestic swine) must exchange some pleasantries..." muttered the pig and in a clear voice said slowly, "How. Do. You. Do?"

Daniel's gaze narrowed. Prince Moon River laughed louder.

"Homo Sapiens these days..."

"You can talk?" spluttered Prince Moon River between giggles.

"Of course I can orally communicate by verbalizing, homo sapien. I can even soliloquize, declaim, pontificate, prophesy, ejaculate, cantillate, articulate, enunciate... do you really want a complete list?"

"You are a wonder, pig."

"I resent that term. I am a member of the genus Sus, of the family Suidae. I am a domestic swine."

"Mister domestic swine..."

"My name is Patrick Otto Reginald Kenneth Yorkson. It never is and never will be 'porky.'" The talking pig tried to hide the tag on his collar.

Daniel, who had been eyeing the talking pig ever since it entered, finally overcame the shock and started her standard interrogation. "How can you talk?"

"The fairy glitter leaking out of her wand acted as a catalyst for a series of internal exothermic irreversible chemical reactions, which changed my genetical makeup. I can provide the exact equations, but I doubt you barbaric royals have the mind to appreciate the precise art of science. To be brief and concise, it has enabled me to 'talk' as you so crudely put it."

"How did you get here?"

"You see, when two pigs really, really love each other, they can decide to do something very, very special. It is like a very, very special hug..." catching Daniel and Prince Moon River's baffled looks, the talking pig asked. "Was that a philosophical question, biological one or just general?"

"How did you get into the library?"

"Trotted. Wandered. Loitered. Sauntered. Ambled. Choose your preferred verb."

"What were your motives?"

"I was disoriented."

Daniel gave the pig another withering glare and sheathed her dagger back into her hair. "It's safe."

"'It?!' I am indignant."

Not for the first time, Daniel wished she could roll her eyes. "He's safe."

They sat (or stood in the pig's case) for long moments in awkward silence, until Prince Moon River broke it with a long dramatic yawn.

"What happens now?" He asked.

"Someone's going to die or mortally wounded..." muttered Daniel.

"According to the chronicles, this is where the hero, namely your princely self, and the heroine exchange verbal blows," said the pig with a knowledgeable nod.

"Done that," drawled Prince Moon River.

"Then they exchange physical blows."

"Not a good idea..." Prince Moon River glanced nervously at Daniel's daggers.

"Then they fall in love."

The Prince's temper suddenly soured and in a bitter (stage)whisper said, "She's probably got a sweetheart somewhere..." 

"An absolute majority of royalty go on quests in situations like this one. Classic examples include the quest for the Holy Grail which was intensely popular during King Arthur's day. The Water of Life is also much sought after..."

"He's got two annoying hum-when-you-drink mugs and I've an incomplete set of marbles... and quests usually include fighting flame-breathing dragons and towering giants, fire-eyed demons and man-eating ogres, gruesome mutants and lightning-wielding titans, potion-brewing cackling witches and double-headed amphisbaenas, snaky wyverns and avian carnivorous rocs..." 

Daniel took a deep breath. "...And massive coiling snakes and ship-wreaking sea-serpents, basilisks and cockatrices who kill with their poisonous glance, riddle-asking man-devouring Sphinxes and scorpion-tailed lion-bodied manticores, snake-haired gorgons and the monsterous evil-symbolising leviathan, creepy mantigers and the nine-headed serpentine Hydra..." 

She took another deep breath. "...And creatures without names because no one hs survived after seeing them long enough to say anything other than 'Aaarrrghhhh!'"

Prince Moon River suddenly brightened. "Let's go. Sounds more fun than a ball."

"They're almost as bad as the gutter-press and tabloids," panted Daniel.

The pig looked quizzically at the two and decided it was beneficial to his sanity to exit the room as soon as possible so trotted out of the royal library. This rather odd experience had been inspiring for him and he had grand plans in mind, which he planed to set into motion as soon as he found a way out of the palace.

Before Prince Moon River can launch a speech to convince Daniel to go on a quest with him, there was a crash of glass. A masked man stumbled into the room. The blade in his hand proclaimed his dark intentions.

Daniel's dagger was out in a flash and she shifted into Defensive Stance Nr. 234 (she had finally remembered it).

"No way!" swore Prince Moon River. (One has to understand that in the very polite country of Laguria, "no way" was considered a obscene language.)

"Prince Daniel of Pyria, I come from the blatant, brave, hairless and harming Prince Daniel of Tybia...." A flying dagger embedded into his throat cut his prepared speech short.

Daniel approached the assassin's body cautiously and drew her dagger from his throat. She wiped it on his fashionably black garments and sheathed it back into her hair. 

Prince Moon River spotted a piece of paper tucked at his waist. He took it and unfolded it.

"You might be interested in this," he said, after scanning the coffee-stained note.

"Read it to me, Moon River."

The Prince winced at his name, but did as he was bid, reading expressively from the page with the appropriate (or inappropriate) gestures. "It says: 'Princess Daniel of Pyria, I come from the valiant, brave, fearless and charming Prince Daniel of Tybia...' It's his speech" He flipped through the pages restlessly. "It goes on for another five and a half pages.... Mostly the same drivel... 'You shall die a painful, agonizing, excruciating, traumatic and elongated death.'.... I'll not suffer you through it..."

"Does it say why he wants to kill me?"

"Yes... here... 'You stole my name...' and 'blackened, soiled and sullied my honourable, reputable, venerable, ethical, spotless, immaculate and spick-and-span name'... someone had fun with a thesaurus... Must have taken him ages to learn it. Though I have to note he made four mistakes in the first sentence. I suppose declamations that bad deserve death."

"Moon River..."

"Don't call me that," The Prince growled, his mood darkening at his name. A glance at the fear on Daniel's face softened his mood. "Call me 'Moonie' or something... just not 'Moon River.'"

"Well, Moonie," she begun again, "I have to say I don't feel very safe here anymore..."

Suddenly, a gaggle of journalists, poets and illustrators stormed into the library, bombarding questions, muttering rhymes and sketching. They had managed to evade security because of the commotion in the royal ballroom and had found their way into the royal library. The journalists were looking for new 'dirt' on the royal family. The poets were looking for inspiration; all of them aspiring to be the next great poet of five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half florid and over-quoted lines. The illustrators were looking for material to accompany the journalists' articles on the latest 'dirt.'

It doesn't take much imagination to guess what the conclusion the journalists jumped to when they saw the two half-dressed royals and the body of a dead assassin. Their probing questions were of an indecent sort, so will not be repeated here, but it is enough to say that they a) had nothing to do with books and, b) had even less to do with assassins. Daniel blushed (which they took as a silent confirmation of what they supposedly did in the library) and Moonie wrapped a protective arm around her (which they took as further confirmation.) He herded her out of the royal library and into the nearest room with good solid locks on the door, which happened be Daniel's room (which the journalists took as even further confirmation.)

With a mob of rabid journalists, poets and illustrators on the other side of the thick, octuple-locked door, Daniel was panicking. Moonie started ripping up her bedsheets.

"Moonie, I think facing all those monstrosities out there would be preferable to facing those... people..."

"Help me tie these sheets together. We'll make that cliched rope of knotted bedclothes."

"I thought you didn't like cliches."

"This one's too much of a classic to dislike," he said with a grin. "Ready for that quest I spoke of?"

Daniel casted a fearful look at the shaking door and nodded. "You?"

Moonie spat onto a corner of the bedsheet and rubbed his face with it, removing the makeup and revealing is blue-tinged skin. "Been waiting all my life."

Meanwhile, back indoors, the company representative and the royal seamstress came to the rescue. The talking pig, who was loitering nearby, reported to the dynamic duo and they came as soon as they could. It took every bit of the company representative's persuasive powers and the royal seamstress's hypnotic powers to halt the rampaging herd of journalists, poets and illustrators.

Though the company representative and the royal seamstress managed to break up the herd and proverbially "kick them out of the palace," they were unable to hush the next day's tabloids. They were filled with reports of the little tete-a-tete of the Princess Daniel and the Prince Moon River in the royal library and their supposed elopement. Some more lurid tabloids gave a graphic blow-by-blow account of the meeting, filled with pathetically romantic love confessions and "events that follow" (taken straight out of romantic novels like "Leather's Passion," with the names changed.)

New epic narratives were recited all over Pyria and Laguria about the elopement of the two royals. Some credited it all to the Curse of Princess Daniel. Others spoke of the "evil" Queen/King of Pyria/Laguria. One poet in particular broke the record of the five-hundred-and-eighty-three-and-a-half florid lines with eight-hundred-and-thirty-one-and-a-quarter lines of pure gushing drivel, titled "Daniel and the Moon." That a quarter line consisted of two words: "beautiful clay" and what "beautiful clay" had to do with Daniel or the Prince is anyone's guess.

It started a series of new anecdotes of how Daniel had always loved the moon and rivers (odd considering how there aren't any rivers in Pyria, only lakes, the odd stream and a bit of coast). It also had a rather creative one of how she had vowed to marry anyone who can catch the Moon's reflection in the river and how the Prince Moon River had the beauty of such a reflection. This was, of course, complete rubbish, but the romantics in the land (like Daniel's dance tutor) relished every single on of the eight-hundred-and-thirty-one-and-a-quarter-lines, though they too were baffled by the quarter line of "beautiful clay."

Not all of these newly spawned epics, trying to cash in on the news, were romantic. In fact, there was four-hundred-and-fifty pages of swashbuckling prose about the duel between the weaponless Prince Moon River and three dozen armed-to-the-teeth masked assassins, all of which danced menacingly in the background as Prince Moon River heroically dispatched them one by one (poetic inaccuracies).

The King and Queen of Pyria reacted surprisingly positively to the news of their daughter's absence. The Queen went throught the standard routine of fainting and fanning, but she wasn't really worried. Princesses traditionally ran away, and usually showed up at the end of it all richer and married (even with children, at times.) Secretly, she felt that her grand scheme of marrying her daughter off had finally worked.

The King didn't find out until a week later, when he finally finished his "very important matters of state." He relaxed after knowing she didn't take with her anything of value (only extra changes of underwear, the marbles, extra handkerchiefs and the odd jewelry.) Laguria was a very rich country and an alliance would be most profitable.

All of Laguria was most pleased (in the most polite of ways, of course), since their mentally-different physically-unusual Prince was finally doing his royal duty. Censored versions of the epic poems were sung all over Laguria, with certain terms substituted for their politically correct counterparts. The overquoted line: "The short beauteous princess into the shining river look'ed" became "The vertically-challenged physically-attractive princess into the visually-reflective-and-distinguished river look'ed."

Both Moonie and Daniel were made painfully unaware of starring in these epics whenever then stepped into an inn or tavern. Sometimes, they couldn't resist opining in between the lines, but the patrons always silenced them. They seemed to prefer the frilled version to the truth, then again, what the ragged looking stranger said, was less likely to be true. Fortunately, the differences between their poetic-selves were too different from their real selves for anyone to recognise them.


End file.
